


Getting to the Heart of the Matter

by Syven



Category: Blood Ties (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syven/pseuds/Syven
Summary: Originally written on 11/01/2008. Written for the RPG [oneav] on LJ. Both characters are mine and this started as a very small piece to bring an awareness to the surface and they got away from me. One needs to understand that Henry is a vampire and they are not romantically involved.NC-17 for soft erotic tones.





	Getting to the Heart of the Matter

**There are shadows that reside deep in our subconscious mind. Shades of memory and emotion.**

Henry picked up the grey charcoal again and brushed it across the paper, shading the flow of the cloak worn by the young wizard he was trying to bring to life. A cautious dab along the edging gave depth where there had been none and the bit of charcoal moved with confidence to define his chin and jaw. Setting the grey aside, his chalk-smudged fingers automatically moved to the burnt auburn stick, closing over the stump when his head lifted. 

A low murmur. His nostrils flared, eyelids sliding closed. The stump fell back to his drafting table with barely a whisper. A single heart beat came into sharp focus. One he knew all too well. He stood, absently pushing his chair out of the way as he crossed the living room floor to the far wall, his loose, white linen tunic rustling with the barest of movements. Pressing a lifeless hand to the smooth, cool surface, cheek resting beside it, eyes closed, a frown creasing his forehead.

A muffled sob. His eyes opened, pupils darkening. _'Ten.'_ Jaw clenched. Hand curled into a fist. _'Nine.'_ Deep breath. Exhale slowly. _'Eight.'_ Crackle of fire. Leap of shadows. _'Seven.'_ Hand uncurled. Swallow. _'Six.'_ Jaw unclenched. Open mouth exhale. _'Five.'_ Head turned. Gaze falling on desk. _'Four.'_ A glance at the clock. 4 a.m.

A muted throaty whimper. _'Three-Two. One.'_ He was not even conscious of crossing to the door, his hand closing over the handle and turning it, standing on the landing with a large skeleton key pressed between his fingers. It looked identical to the one that opened his own door but he knew the difference without glancing down. The merest brush of the metal telling him all he needed to know. Fitting it into the lock, Henry slipped into the smaller flat without a sound and stopped in the door frame of the bedroom. His neighbor never shut the bedroom door. Always threw her dirty clothes in a pile to the right of the door. Slept with her fireplace burning. He unconsciously ticked off the normality of what he was witnessing, his very presence the unnatural aspect.

Firelight tossed flickering shadows across the bed and it's occupant who had pushed the quilt down to her waist in the tossing, revealing a faded Chudley Canon's t-shirt that clung to the curve of her breast. One freckled hand pressed to her chest and the other flung over her head on the pillow, scarlet hair spreading like a living flame where it fell across the pillowcase. A crease of a frown marred the freckled surface of her forehead.

In three steps, Henry sat on the edge of the bed and reached down, curling one hand under her waist, splaying at the small of her back as he lifted her with ease, cradling her head with his free hand as he brought her sleep-limp body flush with his chest. She murmured something unintelligible as her arms curled around his shoulders, cheek nuzzling to the crook of his neck as he soothed a hand through her hair, rocking slightly from side to side. 

After a few minutes, she stirred restlessly in his arms and he loosened his hold as she drew back sleepily rubbing her eyes. "Henry?"

"I'm here," he stated firmly, brushing her hair back from her face, one hand curled bracingly around her bicep.

Ginny blinked, reaching out and touching his cheek, fingers brushing along the cool surface of his skin as if seeking recognition. Withdrawing her hand, she raked her fingers through her hair, pushing it back, reaching up with her other hand to curl on the arm that held her upright. She gave a sleepy shake of her head and murmured thickly. "Did I… bother you?"

"No, kitten. You are no bother at all," he reassured smoothly, watching closely as she struggled to shake off her slumber. Her heart beat had evened the minute he'd lifted her from the bed as it had every other time he had done so. There was a mystery here that went beyond what one saw at first glance and the vampire was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Rubbing the heel of her palm over her eye, Ginny yawned and leaned forward, laying her head on his shoulder, one hand curled around the back of his neck, her fingers inadvertently tangling in his hair. The thickness deepened in her voice. "'m okay now. o'll stay?"

"I will not leave, kitten, but you must tell me something. Can you do that?" Henry folded her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. 

She nodded slowly, already letting sleep overtake her, yawning and nuzzling against him as if he were some overgrown teddy bear while he was left holding a lithe, beautiful witch who pressed against him in all the right places. He was grateful to have some measure of control over his body but even he could not stifle the male response to the plush curve of her breasts against his chest, the warmth of her breath on his throat, the pulsing rhythm of her blood as it swam through her veins. So close and an eternity away. 

"Tell me what happened in the cave," he purred, his voice deepening slightly as he used his vampiric nature to push her into a suggestive frame of mind. It was not something he dared to do before, as she had always been more alert on previous evenings but it was nearly dawn and she had slumbered deeply for hours. 

The strength of her will simmered in the haze of sleep and Ginny yawned again before murmuring. "'wolf. Hit me. Ripped 'irt. Touch'd. Paw'd. 'its and… and lower. 'eally hurt. Scr'tch'd 'e. Said bait. 'or brothers." A deep shudder ran down her body. "Wanted to… wanted to… felt his… 'ock. Wanted 'e. Still 'ants me."

"Like the girl in the paper. You are sure?" Henry pressed firmly, his eyes shimmering with ebony fog as they clouded to pure black. The push of his fangs against his bottom lip should have told him how precarious his hold on his baser nature had grown but his focus sharpened to the thump. thump. thump. of a single heart. To the most minute of changes in it's cadence. His fang pierced his lip and he tasted his own blood. 

Ginny shifted closer and the bed clothes fell further. A hint of faded blue knickers and coltish thighs. Hair falling off her long, graceful neck. Just a taste. _Right there._ You know you've thought about it. _There._ She would never know. _Right there._ You could make it good. _Right._ A lovely erotic dream. _There._ You are a Prince. Take what you want. _Right there_. It was a cosmic joke that her soft moan answered his question in that moment. "Yesss. 'ike 'rows."

His fangs brushed the satin soft skin and he shuddered, fighting back the habits of centuries of privileged and superiority. Fingertips smoothed down the small of her back, past the threadbare cotton and over warm skin, the ripple of her spine, the valley of flesh where it dipped just before the rise of her bottom. She sighed softly and he shivered, squeezing his eyelids shut and when he opened them a moment later, his blue eyes had returned as his fangs faded back. As if she knew the struggle within, Ginny said softly, her voice lacking the taint of sleep. "You're a good man, Henry."

 _'Man,'_ he thought, surprised, pulling back he looked down at her to find her brown gaze meeting his evenly. "You… you called me a man."

"A good man," Ginny lifted her head from his shoulder and reached up, her movement languid with exhaustion, brushing the tips of her fingers down his nose and over his cheek, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and he realized she was still very much on the edge of sleep. 

"Who is the rrows?," Henry demanded sternly, feeling the weight of his 450 years resting heavily on his shoulders. He was still a Prince deep in his unbeating heart, dedicated to the welfare of his subjects and lacking those, his friends. The mortals he cared about. The ones who had wiggled into his self-protecting heart.

Her fingers slipped over his bottom lip and he belatedly remembered the wound he had inflicted on himself as her finger traced over the puncture. His hand moved with blinding speed, catching her wrist in an iron grip, eyes sharp with focus as he brought her finger up to his lips, suckling it into his mouth then drawing it free. Ginny blinked slowly and her eyes dropped to his hand, saying dazedly. "Rrows? Carrows. They were Death Eaters, at Hogwarts. Sixth year."

"I would know what haunts you. Take me back, with you," Henry stated firmly, lifting her hand and bringing it up to his lips, the tip of his nose ghosting along her wrist, eyes closing as if savoring a scent. A scent only he could smell. Molten iron. His eyes snapped open and held her surprised gaze with his will, the totality of black that encompassed his eyes.

Ginny yawned and blinked warily, clearly struggling against the hypnotic suggestion to do as he asked but he held her stare and her mouth opened, murmuring. "We knew. Knew _he_ had taken the Ministry. The school. Didn't. Didn't have a choice. Death Eaters. Hogwarts. Wasn't safe. Family. Blood traitors. _Slytherin_ … punished."

"Who was punished, kitten," he prompted, his thumb playing along the hard line of the vein in her wrist. A whisper of blood just below the surface. Firelight danced across the curve of her cheek. 

"Anyone. Anyone who didn't… Didn't want to hurt," she muttered, giving a weak tug of her arm but his grip was absolute. Her body tensed, shoulders squaring unconsciously, hands curling into fists. The subconscious fighting posture, silent outrage and the heart of a lion.

His thumb stopped its restless motion, voice deepening as he reinforced the hypnotic effect. She was fighting it but without real strength. That was the key, he knew, to unlocking the mystery that she held deep inside. "What was the punishment?"

"Crucio," she whispered, frowning. Plush lips parted in a silent gasp, body twitching, the ghost of memory flickering across flesh and bone. 

Henry froze, rage seething from every pore of his body. He drew her closer, watching the play of emotion on her face. Her free hand reached out and smoothed over his shoulder, tracing a curious, unconscious map over the linen before falling limply to the curve of his thigh. "They crucio'd you."

"Thought I. Ron. Harry… thought I knew. Where they 'ere. Wouldn'ta told 'm," Ginny's eyes slid shut, her head leaning gradually to the side. The edge of her voice was a whimper of exhaustion, from her memory or the hour, he knew not which.

How could the Order let children endure such things? How could her family… they couldn't have known. She didn't tell them. Fred would have not allowed such horrors to continue and he had automatically painted the remaining family in the same fierce loyalty and courage that he had found in his young wizard friend and neighbor. But why would she… the Death Eaters used the children to control the parents, the family. He growled, quietly furious. "How long?

"Passed out. Don't. Don't know," she muttered with a sharper tone, one that was in sharp relief to the tantalizing rush of blood flowing into her heart. The quickening of its strong, thumping beat showing the lie, even if she was not aware of it but something was missing. 

There was apprehension and fear but no more so than when she spoke of the werewolf. He was certain that she had suffered at the hands of the Death Eaters but the blood never lied. The blood. His gaze fell automatically on the barest of pulses running along her throat. The graceful bend of her neck. The tip of his nose skated along the satin surface, his cool breath in sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from her small body. A millimeter separated him from ecstasy and the truth. His words brushed across the hollow of her throat. "Want… want you to tell me what you fear, kitten."

"Toooooommmmm," Ginny moaned softly, voice broken and wounded as if the answer itself caused deep, agonizing pain. 

"Tom?"

A tear rolled down her cheek, shoulders sagging in a defeat he did not think possible in the little witch. Henry rested his cheek against her neck, drawing her body up onto his lap proper. She wound her arms around his neck, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder. The air in the room shimmered with surrealism and he knew it was her latent, childish, uncontrolled magic that caused the fireplace to flare as she whispered in an eerily childlike tone. "Riddle. In my thoughts. Lied. Used me. Made me… do things. Hurt my friends. Stole. Stole my will."

"No, kitten. He did not. You are strong. Stronger than he. He is gone and you are free," he reassured her soothingly, petting her hair gently. A lesser, weaker man might feel remorse for using her semi-conscious state but Henry was not he. The soft expanse of her arched back caressed the palm of his hand as he drew it up, slipping under the worn fabric of her t-shirt, the tempting, velvet curve of her breast pushing against his forearm as his hand came to rest between her shoulder blades. 

A lesser, weaker vampire would have taken her, falling into the lush, innocent scent of her body without hesitation. As it was, he blinked at the change in her voice, back to the singsong melody of adulthood without a trace of sleep, whispering. "I don't think I'll ever be free of him."

"He is dead and you are not," Henry stated, guarded now. Loosening his hold, he was surprised when she did not draw away.

Her hand stroked down the slope of his arm, fingertips crawling across palm of his upturned hand, curling under to leave her small fist cradled there. "Does it hurt?"

It took him four long seconds to make the transition, the translation and he stiffened, taken off guard by both her soft question and her perception of his inner struggle. He answered honestly, glancing down at her hand as he curled his fingers up to close around it. "A pinch."

"You want."

"I do but it is not necessary or needed. It is only a… want of something I cannot have," Henry smiled against the shell of her ear, the tension bleeding from his shoulders as it became clear that she was not angry with him. 

As if she could read his mind, Ginny said softly. "Just a taste."

"I shall not be another who harms you, kitten. Your friendship is… is not something I would abuse," he replied, drawing back from the warmth of her body, bringing her arm up and pressing a chaste kiss to the back of her hand.

She glanced to the window then the nightstand and finally, her gaze shifted back to his. Her free hand rose to brace on his shoulder and her hips swiveled, sliding off his lap but not in the way that he anticipated. The bedclothes pooled around her knees as she straddled across his lap, knees sinking into the bed. If his heart could beat, it would have been pounding at the catlike movement, the innocently erotic invitation that she did not know she was making. Her hand reached up, hesitantly pushing the tangled scarlet locks back but he caught her by the wrist, inhaling sharply when she ducked her head, saying. "I want to know, _too_."

Tipping her chin up, he held her stare as he drew her arm closer, lips ghosting over the unmarred, silken surface as his fingers engulfed her tiny wrist, grip locking as his eyes blackened slowly, nostrils flaring as he searched for any fear but there existed only the skittering apprehension of the unknown. He curled his arm around her waist, pulling her hips closer, unashamed of the clearly masculine response to her body, the ghost of a grin curling his lip at the light flush of her cheek when she felt it. Suddenly, he was not the creature she thought he was but his fangs were piercing the thin skin of her arm and she gasped, eyes going wide then blinking against the sensation of her blood being suckled from her body. The pulse of the rich, vibrant liquid filled his mouth and he held her tightly as she swooned against his chest but the dazed fog in her eyes still held awareness as his eyelids fluttered closed. 

_'Just a taste',_ her words echoed in the back of his mind and the sultry, thick heat of _her_ cut through the jumbled orchestra of pleasure. Taking a deep, steadying breath, his fangs sank back into his teeth and his tongue darted out, licking and suckling the wounded flesh with a tenderness that belied his nature. Her breath was shallow and fast, her body's arousal betraying her in a sweet scent, confusion quickening her pulse. He flashed a smug grin. "You are part of me now, Gin."

"Henry, that was… I… I am? I am," she worked through the haze and nodded finally, asserting her will over her body, tucking the new understanding of him as a man into the appropriate compartment of her mind as she gave a little wiggle, signaling him to release her and he did, letting her fall back on the bed with a soft thud. Her head turned to the window and he reached down, brushing the stray strands of hair away from her cheek as she said with a yawn. "It's almost dawn."

"Do not venture out this evening. It is all hallows eve. Your magic is weaker and I do not trust your wards against the beast. You will be safer in my flat," Henry commanded firmly, standing and crossing to the window, drawing the drapes closed tightly. Her heart beat was slowing, the effect of sleep. When he turned back, she had pulled the quilt up under her arms, her lips parted and he knew she slumbered once more. 

Henry watched her for a few minutes, ignoring the temptingly sweet taste of her blood in his mouth as he silently pondered the repercussions this unusual evening would have. She truly was a part of him now, a mixture of child and sister and witch and something he couldn't pin down. Her lips curled in a sleepy smile and she flopped over onto her side, curling around the pillow as he let himself out of the flat, securing the lock behind him. 

The instinctive pull to find shelter raced through his body as the steel shutters whirred down, closing out all light and ensuring his safety. He would lock the little witch in with him if he had to, he mused as he lay against his pillows. The werewolf would be undeterred by the weakness of the wards when the shifting of planes grew stronger. He closed his eyes and sank into oblivion.


End file.
